I had just turned 24 the day prior, and I figured I'd use my birthday cash and extra year of wisdom to impress a recent Hinge match. Over message, she was unapologetic about not getting to know each other over a drive around the city. Maybe it was because her pictures gave classy upper-middle-class who wouldn't accept anything less than good food that I recommended an Italian spot called L'Antica Pizzeria Da Michele in Belmon Shore. I had been there some years before and remembered it being better than it actually was. Good or not, the plan worked and we agreed to meet in person on December 15, 2025 after two weeks of texting.

I typically avoided food dates because I was hyper aware of the etiquette and the unspoken skill required to get to know someone at the table. When you think about it there is a lot that can go wrong. For example, bubble guts, thoughts about eating weird, being asked questions while you are chewing, the waiter being hotter than you, or worse choking on your food.

The day of our date is sunny and bright. As she parks, I stand outside the restaurant and amuse myself with an older gentleman who says I look very LA. Our conversation lasts the perfect amount of time, and as we finish, I see her for the first time coming from my left (my bad side).

Between us was a cement runway that felt like a block. That moment was akin to the feeling you get when someone is holding the door open for you while being awkwardly far. I start to walk towards her to close the distance and try to perfectly time when to say hi; I didn't want her so far that she couldn't hear me and not so close that there was unneeded silence. When she was close enough I noticed how gorgeous she was. Her eyes looked bright and clear, and I was pleasantly surprised by her voice, which was confident and smooth. Her leather jacket gave her warmth and style that made me regret my stale plain white t-shirt.

We walk in for our reservation which was unnecessary because the place was empty. We small talk over the small Christmas tree in the lobby and talk about what we wanted for Christmas. I'm proud of myself for not saying her.

We sit at a high-top adjacent to a window that separates us from the raw pizza dough and chef. We order margaritas along with a beet salad, pesto pasta, truffle pizza, and fried balls with something in them that I can't remember. The server recommended them, and I wish he hadn't.

We debate over the taste of beets while we wait for the food to come. When it arrives I am forced to deal with the consequences of breaking my rule. Up until now, my worries about eating on a first date were imaginary. To prevent them from becoming reality I try to be very careful with each bite; I chew thoroughly and don't speak with my mouth full. Unfortunately, I still managed to choke.

With food still in her mouth, she kindly told me not to worry about it and assured me that she doesn't judge. While trying to not to give her the ick, I thought about how I felt safe and I could trust what she said. This let me know she was different and I knew I had someone special in front of me. I spent the rest of the date trying to recover and wondered if I had flushed my shot down the drain.

One thing was for sure, if there was to be a next date she would have to be the one to reach out. This decision had nothing to do with whether I wanted to see her again and everything to do with the fact that choking and getting rejected was too much to handle.

I left our date feeling both embarrassed and grateful to know that I could feel comfortable in a vulnerable moment with her.

In retrospect, these awkward moments were the start of our running joke about the unusual circumstances that come with her. At night we talk about them as we reflect on our favorite parts of our day. To help us remember these moments we decided to write them down in our date journal.